


Oh, Boy . . . Or Girl

by CateBeLate



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Nat's POV, Preggo Piece, fluff piece, romanogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 06:30:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16362683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CateBeLate/pseuds/CateBeLate
Summary: I thought it'd be cute to give these two what they both wanted, even if it's canonically impossible . . . Well, unless we look at that one Marvel universe where these two had James Rogers, but that's neither here nor there.Enjoy!





	Oh, Boy . . . Or Girl

Moments spanned across, stretching from the instant to the hour. Realization held the broad spectrum of every conceivable emotion a mind could have, belittling the more extravagant with nothing more than the candid nature of love. A realization steeped heavily in revelation to bring about a single slide in time to encapsulate the impossible. In the entirety of the universe, miracles were few and far between, chancing a glimpse at the spotlight many feigned witness to. Time and time again, these were fleeting morsels of the improbable, often spoken of in the same sentence as divine intervention and the like. But such words were lost from the mouth of one born of stoicism, for there was a heavy belief a miracle would fall short of something never savored.

It had never been stated before, this impossibility and how it would last. But as with most things precious and tentative, a secret was made in order to maintain some decorum without the possible shattering of hope. It was the last thing anyone needed in this time of perceived strife, to know something far more delicate hung in the balance. The less people knew, the less they were inclined to become heartbroken should the inevitable happen. Or rather, what was believed to be inevitable.

And so, a harborer of secrets took one more to weigh upon her shoulders, self-inflicted and tightly held to her heart. While most of what she kept within the darkness resided there a thousand lifetimes over, this would only need to remain so for three months. The defected Soviet could handle three months, surely. Far worse and far more tempting had been endured for longer periods of time. Perhaps on those missions taken over the duration she was a bit more careful, more conscious of what was at stake. No longer throwing herself into the path of gunfire, but seeking refuge despite the slower success rate of objectives achieved.

“It’s nothing,” she said when questioned by those close to the pair. “Just feeling a little mortal these days.”

Most bought it, having heard those words spoken by her before when mentality was shaken by something she cared not to share. It was pertinent to remain elusive despite the prying eyes, concern painting the features of her teammates as well as Steve’s own. He was perhaps the most keen to the nuances that surrounded her being. In light of the walls she’d allowed him past, whole new dimensions had opened up, revealing an entire different person hidden beneath the Black Widow persona, and he chose to love the entirety of her. Natasha, Natalia, Black Widow - every face she wore to hide behind, he accepted and adored regardless.

It was fear that kept words from being voiced. Not fear of his reaction - she knew very well how he’d react - but it was the fear of something taking truth from the words and bolstering her image to being a liar once again.

For three months, not a word was said. Restaurants were pinned with food poisoning to mask the nausea in the early morning hours, and general laziness for the lack of energy. Excuse were made topical, easily smoothed over in the advantage taken over trust. Guilt etched into her backbone, but it remained justified as assumed inevitability held her hostage of pessimism. It was a reliance upon past behaviors that kept her hidden in plain sight, all peculiarities presented with offered excuses with false credentials.

It would be difficult to keep a secret much longer, she found, since there’d be an undeniable growth at the front of her. There’d be no excuse for it save the truth, and in that precarious time of fragile weeks, everything seemed to be going accordingly. A private practitioner had been utilized for the bare minimum of checkups, careful to remain as anonymous as possible, both to him and those who tended to follow here every move. Caution held her secret tightly, but like with most things, the time had come.

The idea of saying something hit her in the middle of a sparring session, as grins turned wicked in their playful training. Hits weren’t nearly as hard, but the techniques were fluid yet rigid all the same. Having claimed long ago he couldn’t dance, Natasha often noted his rhythm resided in his violence. This stubborn idea stuck with her, serving as a distraction to unceremoniously land her flat on her back against the worn mats. An apology was immediately doled out from the Good Captain, hand extended in an offer to help her stand, which she naturally took. It was unlike her to give the upperhand so easily, especially to him, and it was questioned in small, three worded questions as they made their way throughout the day.

This idea became more a problem than a distraction as the hours ticked on, burning a wildfire along synapses and bringing every thought to swirl around it. Every part of her should be excited to tell him the miracle they had both unknowingly created, but something held her back. Instability perhaps, was her driving reason behind secrecy, but even then, her lack of focus drew something born of concern from the patriot.

“Nat, are you okay?” It’d been in the car as she sat behind the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change from ruby to emerald. They often traded days for driving - Natasha with her sleek car and Steve with his almost too fitting motorcycle. She’d been staring intently at the light, lost in the unheard buzzing of lights, but it was his voice that snapped her back to the present.

“Hm? Oh. Yeah, I’m fine. I just have something on my mind.” Half-truths paved the way for putting off the future blame of lying, but it was simply second nature by now.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” she answered almost too quickly. She needn’t glance in his direction to know that worry painted eyes of the purest crystal. So, she offered a pleasant smile, as if that would tide him over. “Not yet, pretty boy.”

The drive was in relative silence, the quiet melody of the radio turned almost all the way down filled the awkward space between them. His fear and worry nearly outgrew the car though, stifling any clear thought processes on her end. If anything, she should tell him just for his sake.

He won’t be made, she told herself. He’ll stutter and smile too wide and hug you and everything will feel perfect.

Natasha parked the car, slipping out without glancing back at him. Every action was being put beneath a microscope, theories running abound within that star spangled mind of his, yet she could do so little to dissuade him of what he was assuming already.

What are you so afraid of?

Nothing remains perfect, she answered herself. This will get taken from me, from us, just as everything else has.

But he hasn’t been taken from you.

Not yet.

Together they moved to his apartment, him half a step behind her. It was almost too easy to feel his gaze burning at the back of her head, but like with most things, Natasha refused to acknowledge it, even as she opened the door for them. The familiarity of this place - long ago earning the title of “home” - should have quelled shaking nerves, but it barely touched upon them.

“Nat, can you talk to me?” In more ways than one, she was cornered. “Please? Come on.”

The Soviet finally relented, nodding somewhat.

“You’re gonna wanna sit for this talk.” In the back of her mind, Natasha knew that could’ve been worded better, especially as she saw the color drain from his face as he obediently took a seat at the table, chair turned out so he could face her properly.

“You’re not leaving me, are you?” The veil of humor was a pitiful attempt at hiding a very real fear beneath. Steve had certainly gotten better at lying, but there was no fooling a woman who was deemed a professional liar.

“No,” she answered abruptly, cursing a default mode to be cold as the Motherland in times of duress. In an attempt to alleviate the ambiguity, she offered an olive branch. “We’ve already established that you’re stuck with me. It’s even on paper now.”

It didn’t do much to make him feel better, and it was easy to see.

“Then what is it? What’s going on, Nat?”

What was only five seconds felt like five turns around the sun, time slowing to an almost standstill as she grasped for the right words to be offered. After gnawing on the inside of her cheek, crossing her arms and leaning against the kitchen counter, the truth could only make itself known in the usual hidden manner.

“You’re gonna be a dad, Steve.” A menagerie of possibilities flipped through his mind, and she could see him try to figure out the actual meaning behind those words.

“Did you legally adopt Parker? We’ve gone over this. He’s too old to adopt.” Immediately, Natalia rolled her eyes since that had obviously been a joke at the time she’d initially started introducing Spider-Man as her son.

“Steve, no. That’s not-...Steve, I’m telling you I’m pregnant.” Every inch of her being willed him to not ask if it was his, and thankfully, he received the message. In the dawning of realization upon his features, she watched the universe unfurl in his eyes, and something so beautiful blossomed that could never be captured on canvas or stone.

“You’re-...wait, but how? You’re pregnant?”

“You’re guess is as good as mine, pretty boy. I guess you’re a super soldier...everywhere.” The pitiful joke bounced off him as if she hadn’t said anything at all. Instead, he stood, his towering height seeming to be tenfold as he took slow steps to her. There was no reason to move away from him. There’d never been a reason for a step back.

“You’re...pregnant,” he finally stated, looking down between them as fingers gingerly moved over her navel, and all she could do was watch him with a sentimental sort of amusement. “Oh my god, Nat.”

And there was the excitement she was waiting for.

“Nat! You’re pregnant! I’m going to be a father!” In one smooth motion, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her almost too easily off the ground, leaving her wrap her arms around his neck, just as he buried his face in her own. Through the curls of crimson, she swore she could feel the searing tears of joy she’d rarely paid witness to, let alone felt on her own.

“You’re going to be a dad, Steve,” she murmured against his neck. His grip on her wasn’t too tight, nor was it too light. In his arms, she felt the same security she had always felt. In his arms, she felt the weight of the world lift from her shoulders and the once elusive happiness now flooded in once more, all because of him. 


End file.
